


Orpheus

by Blanquette



Series: Stopping time [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Drabble, Drabble Collection, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanquette/pseuds/Blanquette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the clock starts again, Bucky dies.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Orpheus

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it has nothing to do with the Orpheus myth yet.  
> The next part will.

When the little clock on the bedside had stopped, he had felt a shiver running over his shoulders, and not able to look at the pale body laid out before him no more, he had lowered his head on his chest.

He had kept the motionless hand in his until it grew cold, the monitor ringing a warning close to his ears. He had not said anything when the rush of nurses and doctors had pushed him to the side. He had not listen to what they had to say.

Death had been watching over his shoulder, kept at bay by the little clock raised like a shield between them and the inescapable. He had known what would happen, and he had thought he was ready. But no one ever is.

He hated the day they put him in the ground. It was warm and sunny, the sky was clear and a summer breeze made the trees flutter. It should have been raining. The sky should have been looming over their heads, black as ink, thunder making itself heard in the distance.

After, he had stood alone for a long time, familiar faces retreating quietly. Grief embraced him then, wrapping itself tightly around his body, nesting in his entrails.

He had needed time but the little clock hadn't given enough. He wasn't sure how long they had stayed like this, in this perfect sick room, hands clasped together, unmoved and unchanged. Still, the little clock hadn't given enough.

After a while someone had tugged on his sleeve and he had turned toward a friend. She had covered her body in black, like everyone else, and she looked at him, face filled with worry, cheeks streaked by dried tears. He had felt himself crumble then, his body falling apart in the dirt, piece by piece. She had gripped his hand, tightly, and had looked at him with burning eyes.

-We will find a way. We always do.

Something had stir in Steve then, and he had thought, maybe we shouldn't. Maybe this is the end. But he had smothered it with both hands. Orpheus had gone to Hell. He would do better.


End file.
